


MacGyver + Dean

by Imcalledzorro



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Hellhounds, trapped in a room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imcalledzorro/pseuds/Imcalledzorro
Summary: When MacGyver is trapped in a room with Dean Winchester, he can't help but ask questions. The only problem is, he has to answer some of his own.





	MacGyver + Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this was posted before, FYI, never let your friend borrow your laptop or always check the log in, lol!
> 
> A huge thank you to GaelicSpirit for beating the heck out of this story without her guidance it wouldn't be as awesome as it is! I LOVE crossovers, and I am excited to share this little story with ya'll! (PS It's my first crossover story!) I do hope you enjoy, and don't forget to let me know how you like it!

MacGyver + Dean

 

_It watched from afar, excited to see how this little tête-à-tête would play out. If it went the way it predicted then everything would fall perfectly into place…._

MacGyver woke up with no idea where he was.  He didn’t open his eyes or pull his head up to see what was happening; instead he pretended to stay unconscious in an attempt to orient himself to his surroundings.

            “I know you’re awake, you might as well open your eyes,” came a voice directly across from him.

            Deciding there was no tactical reason to continue pretending to be unconscious; MacGyver opened his eyes, straightened up and assessed the situation.  He was in a mostly-empty room with bare walls. There was only one other person in the room, and he was sitting directly across from him.  The other guy was maybe late thirties, shorter light-brown hair, but not as short as Jack’s.  He had a hardened look about him that made MacGyver really miss his friend at this moment. 

They both had black tape all the way from their wrists to their forearms and from their ankles halfway up their calves securing them to chairs.  The chairs themselves were bolted into the concrete floor.  MacGyver could see a pile of clothes in a corner of the room; recognizing his jacket and shoes, he assumed it was a pile of their belongings.  The only other noticeable feature in the room was a square doggie door set into the wall behind the other guy.  He didn’t see a larger door but assumed there was one behind him. 

The other guy spoke again.

            “Glad to see you’re finally awake.  I was starting to worry.  So…you see a way to get us out of here?”

            MacGyver looked around the room again to see if there was anything he might have missed the first time, but again came up empty. He shook his head; the other guy sighed like he had figured that, but had to try anyway. 

“You got a name? Or should I keep calling you Boy Scout in my head?”

MacGyver wrinkled his forehead, “Boy Scout, really?”

The other dude looked unrepentant. “Your shirt is buttoned up and tucked into freaking khaki pants. It was either Boy Scout or Old Man, and you ain’t old so….”

            MacGyver sighed, not wanting to be called _Boy Scout_ for however long it was going to take Jack to find him. “It’s Mac, what’s yours?”

            “Dean,” came the terse reply. “You have any clue how we got here? I woke up about an hour ago, or what feels like an hour. You were already here tied up to that chair.  They took my shirt, my jacket, and my shoes, man!  My _shoes_! Ok, so I may have had a knife hidden in them, but now my feet are getting cold!”

Dean tried kicking his leg, but the tape didn’t even budge.

            Mac knew the feeling. “If it helps any I think our stuff is in a pile in the corner behind you.”

            Dean growled. “Well, if some genius hadn’t bolted these chairs to the floor, I could have scooted over and we could be free men by now. Guess I’ll have to wait for Sammy to come find me.”

            “Sammy?” Mac questioned.

            “My little—well, well not so little…he’s like Sasquatch big, but he’s my brother. He better be finding me, or I’m gonna haunt his ass big time!  You got anybody looking for you?” Dean asked as he continued to try to loosen the bindings.

            “Dean, if you keep doing that the only thing you will hurt is yourself,” Mac informed him, watching the other man struggle, “and, to answer your question, if I don’t show up long enough my team will get worried and start looking for me.  They are very good at finding people; we only have to last till they get here.”

            Dean grunted at the instructions. “For your information, I’m not trying to loosen the tape. I’m trying to rip the arm off the chair.” He growled and shook the chair harder.

            Mac sighed. “If they took the time to bolt the chair to the floor, I’m sure they also reinforced the arms.” It was just like talking to Jack!

            Dean ceased his struggles and started glaring at Mac. “So what’s your big idea, then, Mr. Genius? Sit here and shit ourselves to death? Yeah, Sam better come find me, but I plan on meeting him halfway. I’m tired of getting Deanapped.”

            Mac snorted, prompting Dean to ask snarkly, “What never been kidnapped before? Or… _Mac_ napped?”

            “Macnapped?” _I’ll have to remember to tell Jack that,_ Mac gave the man a half-grin, “For your information, I have been, in your words, Macnapped, several times, ok?”

            Dean looked abashed. “What is it that you do to get kidnapped so often? What are you, an heir to a fortune or something?”

            Mac couldn’t help but to laugh. “Nothing that interesting. I work at a think tank.”

            “A what?”

            Still grinning, Mac explained, “A think tank performs research and advocacy concerning topics such as social policy, political strategy, economics, military, technology, and culture.” Seeing the confused look on Dean’s face, Mac dumbed it down to what he like to call Jack speak, “Basically we are paid to think up new ideas.”

            “Sure.” Doubt dribbled from every pore.

Mac attempted to shrug, but didn’t make much leeway with his hands taped down. 

            “So…,” Dean attempted to get a conversation started. “Where did you serve?” Mac tried to keep the surprise from his face, but apparently he didn’t succeed because Dean added. “You can see the signs if you know what to look for.”

            “Afghanistan, you?”

            “Technically, nowhere.  My dad was a Marine, and he raised Sam and I like soldiers.”

            “I bet your mom loved that.”

            A hollow laugh echoed bitterly from Dean. “Well she died when I was four so….”

            “Mine, too.” Mac whispered. Then, clearing his throat and have nothing better to do, he decided to see what he could find out about his fellow kidnap victim. “So, tell me more about your childhood?”

            Dean paused for a bit then began to talk. “Well, after Mom died, Dad vowed vengeance against the monster that killer her. So, we bounced from town to town, from state to state, hell, pretty sure we crossed the US a couple of times before I had pubic hair.” Mac realized that he must have been making a face, because Dean stopped for a second before continuing.  “It wasn’t that bad. Baby has plenty of room to stretch out in the back, and we visited Uncle Bobby and Dad’s other friends pretty often.”

            “Baby?” Mac questioned.

            “My 1967 Chevy Impala.” Dean was grinning from ear to ear. “Dad gave her to me when I got my GED. I rebuilt her from the ground up after she was totaled. She’s now got…,”

Mac grinned, thinking about Jack and his classic cars. Maybe Jack had a brother Mac didn’t know about? Dean interrupted his thoughts with a, “You ok, kid?”

            Mac huffed. “Yeah, the car talk reminds me of my friend, Jack. And just sitting here is getting to me, so please, keep talking. It’s taking my mind off our current predicament.”

            Dean nodded. “So, I got the car, Dad bought a sweet Chevy truck, and I started helping out in the family business. Sammy decided to abandon us to head to Stanford, the nerd,” the word coming out like a complement, “Dad disappeared, and I couldn’t find him on my own, so I got Sam to help me look, but then his girlfriend…um, died. That changed things a bit for him, so he decided to drop out of college to help me find Dad. When we finally did, the monster that killed Mom had him and we rescued him only to be t-boned by a trucker.”

Mac hissed a sympathetic wince, Dean cleared his throat, eyes darting around the empty room and continued, “Yeah, so it killed Dad, put me in the hospital for a while, but I finally got out, rebuilt Baby and we hit the road to avenge both Mom and Dad.” Dean took a deep breath. “The next year we finally cornered him, and with some help of friends took him down. After that we just continued with the family business, you know, saving people, hunting things….”

            Mac winced at the cold tone in Dean’s voice. He hated to ask, fearing what Dean might say, but he had to know. “So what is the family business? Are you like bounty hunters or something?” He hated that _something_ came out in a higher register than his normal tone.

            Dean chuckled mirthlessly. “Yeah, Mac, something like that.” Dean tried to shrug, but couldn’t. “So that’s my pathetic life. Your turn.”

             Mac stalled. “Wait…hunting _things_? That’s a little cold, dude. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know the Colton family down in Louisiana?”

It was a little test to see if this guy was really some sort of bounty hunter, or just a Murdoc-level psycho. After all, he seem to attract them, or so Jack said.

            A smile broke across Dean’s face. “Oh man, Mama Colton! You ever had any of her pie? Man, I love that pie!” He sighed. “Great now I’m thinking about pie and how hungry I’m getting! Hurry up and take my mind off of pie.”

Mac hated talking about himself, especially the very personal parts, but since Dean had opened up—albeit with a weird and scary recap—a bit of reciprocity was fair.

 “Well, like I said, my mom died when I was five and Dad decided to leave when I was ten. Harry, my grandpa, raised me.  He taught me a lot about…improvising, and that came in handy over the years.” Mac allowed a small grin to escape for the last part. “I graduated High School early and attended MIT for two years.”

Dean got an impressed look on his face when MIT was mentioned.

            “I dropped out and joined the Army where they assigned me to EOD; I served over there for three years before shipping home. After I got stateside, I was recruited by a think tank and here I am.” He realized he had essentially left out most of his current life, but it was all classified.

            “Bullshit,” Dean stated emphatically.

            “What?” Mac protested.

            “Ok, I believe that all happened, but a whole lot has been left out.”

            “How would you know?” Mac wasn’t budging on this.

            Dean’s grin was predatory. “First you mentioned a team earlier, but never said a thing about them in that story of yours. Second, you mentioned your friend Jack earlier, so where is he between MIT and the think tank?  And someone who graduated high school early, attended MIT, and was an EOD specialist would _not_ be wasting their time at a think tank.”

            “What about you?” Mac challenged.

            “What about me?”  Dean shot back, staring defensively at Mac.

            “You redacted most of what you told me,” Mac stared back, jaw squared, gaze sharp.

            “Prove it,” Dean challenged.

            “You paused too much, mentally taking away what you didn’t want to tell me. That plus body posture and the direction of your eyes indicated that you were omitting parts.” Mac fell silent, letting that settle in.

Dean was glaring at him, clearly upset at being caught lying.

            “Fine, mister human lie detector, you tell _me_ the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and I’ll do the same. But a word of warning, you won’t believe me, because you can’t handle the truth,” Dean challenged.

            Mac couldn’t take it anymore. “Any chance you are related to Jack Dalton? I swear, you are like a younger clone, especially with the movie quotes. Please don’t tell me that Bruce Willis is your hero!” He asked pleadingly. 

            After a good laugh Dean responded, “So your friend has good taste, but I don’t know any Daltons. My man is Clint Eastwood. You ever see the monkey movies? I swear that man can’t make a bad movie.” Dean’s tone of voice changed from jovial to downright serious in seconds.  “Now, quit stalling.”

 Mac thought a minute, weighing the ramifications of divulging classified information to a random stranger—even one who was tied up in a windowless room with him. His desire for the truth and a weird compunction to tell this man anything won out. “Fine, I’ll tell you the whole story, but you have to do the same.”

            “Deal. You first.”

            Mac sighed; a promise was a promise. “Ok, when I was an EOD specialist, Jack was assigned as my Overwatch. He became like…an uncle to me, protected me from more threats than I care to remember. He even re-upped to continue serving as my cover. When my time was up, he came back home with me to LA and we were recruited by an agency called DXS.”

Mac caught Dean’s smirk. “Yes, I’m a government agent, ok?”

            “I didn’t say anything!” Dean protested with a small grin. “Go on, it was just getting interesting.”

            Mac huffed, but continued. “We worked in a three-person group: me, Jack, and a computer hacker named Nikki. She and I were dating….” Mac paused hating the next part. “Until she got me shot and proved herself a traitor.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

            “Yeah, wasn’t a great time for me,” Mac glanced down, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Jack recruited one of his former girlfriends’ daughter, Riley, to fill Nikki’s shoes, and we go back at it as the Phoenix Foundation: a think tank fronting for an intelligence agency.  Until a hit man tried to kill me and exposed that Jack and I are secret agents to my best friend and roommate, Bozer.”

            Dean interrupted, “Wait…a _hit man_?”

            Man was caught up in getting it all out.  “Yeah, it gets better. So, Bozer is hired on by the Phoenix. Nikki pops back up, reveling that our boss was in fact the traitor _and_ the one who hired the hit man, _not_ Nikki _!_ ”

            “Ouch!” Dean exclaimed.

            “An understatement,” Mac nodded.  “We got a new director—who is a take-no-prisoners, no-nonsense lady, and used to be Jack’s handler when he was with the CIA. We caught the hit man, who calls himself Murdoc, once, but he broke out. We got a new member on our team, Cage. She’s a master interrogator, and the one who I learned those neat tricks from, incidentally,” Mac threw a smirk in Dean’s direction.

“Jack convinced me that I needed to make peace with my dad, so…I sent him a letter, but it came back unopened.  Jack helped me start searching, but basically, we only turned up his old watch. Anyway, Murdoc popped up and shot Cage before disappearing again.”

            “That dude’s like a bad penny,” Dean commented.

            “Tell me about it!  Cage decided to go home to recuperate in Australia, and we continued the hunt for my dad and Murdoc. One of Murdoc’s associates got sick of him, and sold him to the Phoenix, only for us to be ambushed by his former mentor. He shot me _and_ the mentor, _and_ escaped custody…again.  Thankfully, since then he’s left me alone. For now, at least.”

Mac sighed, shaking his head, lost a bit in his own story. “I’m sure he’ll pop up to torture me later.  I did finally find my dad, though. Turns out he is actually the head boss at the Phoenix.”

“What?” Dean exclaimed. “Dude, that’s messed up!”

“When I finally got to meet him again, he assured me that he had been keeping his eye on me the whole time. He even had the audacity to brag that he was the one who put Jack and me together. In his own words he said, ‘I was behind the scenes the whole time nudging you in the right direction.’ Is it me, or was that creepy?” Mac was so into reliving the past two years of his life that he had kind of forgotten where he was.

            Dean agreed, “Yep, that’s super creepo.”

            “ _Thank_ you!  He seemed to think it proved something. So, I quit.  I told him I couldn’t work for someone I didn’t trust, and I can’t trust him at all.” Mac deflated after all that. Silence reigned for a bit. Mac couldn’t believe that he had said all that, but he felt he had to. Now that he had gotten it all out, he felt a lot better.

However, hunger was starting to get to him.  When was the last time he had eaten? It was hard to know…he didn’t even know what time it was now, how long he’d been unconscious, how long they’d been in that room…. Dean interrupted his inter monologue.

“You know, I thought my dad sucked, but yours is right up there!” Dean sympathized. “Dad would leave us with some questionable babysitters or by ourselves, but he ALWAYS came back for us. I just can’t imagine him never not coming back.  Sorry, dude!  And a hit man who has it out for you? I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes…wait do you think this is Murdoc’s doing? That it’s gonna be some _Saw_ -level twistedness?” Dean asked with alarm, looking around for any indicators.

            Mac shook his head, dejectedly. “With Murdoc, who knows? I’ve given up trying to figure out his craziness.” He brought his chin up in a challenge. “Anyway, it’s your turn. Let me hear all about ‘the truth according to Dean.’ Plus, since you mentioned pie, I keep on thinking about how hungry I am now, so thanks for that!”

            Dean shot him a hard look. “Ok, after we get out of here, whoever gets out of here last buys supper…or is it breakfast? I don’t know anymore!”

            “Deal,” Mac nodded with a small smile. “Now, spill.”

            “Well, remember, I told you won’t believe me, and right now I have no way of proving it, but…,” he took a slow breath, then leveled his eyes on Mac’s. “Angels, demons, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and all manner of things that go bump in the night? They’re all real, and I hunt them with my brother.”

            Mac sighed, “So you’re _not_ going to tell me the truth?”

            Dean laughed mirthlessly. “This _is_ the truth. You’re the one with the fancy interrogation techniques. Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m lying.”

Mac did, and amazingly couldn’t find any trace of deceit. Either Dean was a stone-cold psychopath…or he was telling the truth.  Mac didn’t know which one was scarier; right now he wanted out of the chair and the room!

Dean waited a second then continued. “When I was four, my mom died by burning to death on my baby brother’s bedroom ceiling.  Ever since then, we have been hunting the unexplained. That whole saving people, hunting things I mentioned earlier? It’s _literally_ our family business. What I said about my early life all true, with the exception that sometimes I would help my dad hunt down ghosts and such. I was an expert marksman by 10. Most of the time, I had to stay back and watch my brother, but sometimes Dad would let me come with him.” 

Mac still looked skeptical. “So, wait…how do you know the Colton’s?” he demanded.

“On occasion, we will do some bounty hunting to earn some quick cash. Plus the Colton’s know all about the supernatural world, and help out hunters when we need it.”

“Hunters?” Mac questioned.

“People who hunt down supernatural creatures. People like me, my brother, my dad…. When we found Dad after he disappeared, he was possessed by the demon that killed mom. A thing named Azazel. It tried to kill me, and frankly almost succeed.  The only reason I’m alive is because Dad traded his life for mine.” Dean looked away, his voice giving a bit.  When he continued, it was steady again.  “We finally got Azazel and sent him straight back to Hell, but we accidently opened the gates of Hell while we were doing it. So, we had our work cut out for us going after these things, and basically just…trying to stay alive. Which, we’ve done…mostly. Except for the time where my brother got stuck in a time loop, and I died every day. He wouldn’t let me out of his sight for a month after that!”

The penny dropped, and Mac suddenly shouted, “That’s it!”

“What’s it?” Dean asked, looking baffled.

“You’re giving me the plot to that book series, _Supernatural_. Bozer loves them and made me read a few because he had an idea about a movie version.” Mac was sure that Dean was bullshitting him and now he had the proof!

Dean groaned. “Yeah, so those books are written about my life. Every word is real.”

Mac lifted an eyebrow; he was too entrenched in the provable, world to simply buy what this guy was selling just because they were both trapped in the same grey room together.

 “I’m serious, man,” Dean continued, his voice earnest. “They were written by a prophet named Chuck Shurley. Well, I mean, we _thought_ he was a prophet. Turns out he was God…writing the Winchester Gospel. I try not to think about it too much; it gives me a headache.” Dean scrunched his forehead up like he did indeed have a headache.

“God is real?” Mac asked, unconvinced. He was going to need more that this Dean guy telling him.  He wanted scientific proof, he was a scientist after all and a firm believer of the scientific process

“Yep, only right now he’s on vacay reconnecting with his sister, Amara. She brought my mother back to life as a thank you gift for reuniting her with her brother. So, there’s that.”

Mac just blinked, gob smacked. “Wait…your mom’s _not_ dead?”

Dean grimaced, as though just realizing his little moment of bonding earlier with the mutual loss of parents wasn’t quite fair. “Yeah, man. She’s, uh…she’s back with us, now. Not zombie-fied, either.  It’s weird.”

He actually looked apologetic. Mac tried to breathe past the sudden ache in his chest at the thought of having his mom back in his life. All indications were that Dean was telling the truth, and it was making his head spin.  Although, that could also be from hunger or thirst. 

Dean went on, “It’s a lot to take in, I get it. I mean, try living it. If you’ve read the books, what happened after the last book is a lot…more.  Sam came back from Hell, but without his soul. Then Castiel—you read about him, right?”

Mac nodded, still slightly dazed.

“Right, okay, so yeah, Cas brought in a bunch of these Biblical baddies called Leviathans out of Purgatory—also real, by the way. We lost Bobby, and then Cas and I got stuck in Purgatory. Sam hit a dog. We met another prophet, named Kevin, but…we lost him, too. Then Sam underwent a series of trials to try to close the gates of Hell, which nearly cost him his life.  I…uh, became a demon. Basically a Knight of Hell.  I killed Death, which unknighted me, and accidentally unleashed the aforementioned Amara and she almost ended the world, but the Heavenly sibs make up, bring Mom back, like I said before. Ummmm, Let’s see, what else…oh, Lucifer has a kid, Jack, who is a teenager and surprisingly a good kid. Nature versus nurture, am I right?  Oh, and I killed Hitler!”

Mac didn’t return Dean’s grin. Dean cleared his throat, coming in on the home stretch.

“We discovered a parallel dimension I like to call Apocalypse World and we found the doppelgangers of some friends who are dead here. The angels—who are mostly really asshats, hate to tell you—have taken over and are trying to kill everybody.  And, now here we are! Tied up with nowhere to go!”

Dean practically yelled the last part, obviously wrapped up in telling about how shitty his last few years had been.

“Ok, so…if all that is real, then why haven’t any of your powerful friends come to get you out?” Mac asked cautiously. It was one thing to theoretically believe in aliens and such, but quite another to actually know they existed, and bringing mom’s back from the dead? How does _that_ work? And…who could he talk to about it?

“Who knows? I’ve given up on any rescues from them a long time ago. You would think that having an angel as a best friend would lead to some rescuing every now and then, but nope!” Dean sighed. “Being a spy sounds a little better.”

They both chuckled a little at that one. Mac wasn’t sure if he found this hilarious because of the situation, or because he was faint from hunger, or if he was legitimately losing it. He was scared it was the last one.

Mac took a deep breath and carefully parceled out his words. “I don’t know if I actually believe you or not, but I am willing to not contradict you on it, fair enough?”

Dean nodded.  “Look, kid…you hang out with me long enough, you’ll either start believing real quick or….”

“Or?” Mac prompted, not liking the dark look that seeped into Dean’s eyes.

“Or, you’ll be dead.”

Mac nodded slowly, letting the reality of that statement sink in.

“So…any ideas about how to escape there, 007?” Dean broke the heavy silence, rolling his neck.

 Mac looked around again; still nothing just like the other two times.  Hadn’t he told Jack that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, but expecting different results?  Still the same institutional grey walls, the same monotone room barren of anything but their out of reach items and that doggie door. Which, that was just weird. Maybe it was for delivering food or something?  

“Usually by now I’d have some idea, but…nada. I don’t even remember being kidnapped. I remember getting into my Jeep to head to the grocery store, because the team was coming over and we needed more food, and then I woke up here, no headache or drugged feeling. You?”

Dean grinned, almost nostaligic. “I was leaving the bar in the company of a beautiful woman. Clearly that didn’t end the way I’d planned. Where were you, in L.A.?”

Mac nodded.  He started to reply when they heard a muffled bang from outside their room. Both looked at each other, then Dean stared hard at the door, over Mac’s shoulder. Mac tried to look at the door, but couldn’t twist around far enough from his seated position. There was another muffled bang, but this time from the opposite end of the room. Mac could see Dean mumbling something under his breath. Then, there was a thud against the door, like someone was trying to kick it down.

“Dean!” Came a bellow from the door. A huge grin spread across Dean’s face.

“Sammy! It’s great to hear your voice!” Dean shouted back.

Then another voice came through the door. “You wouldn’t happen to have a new blond friend in there would you?”

“Jack!” It was Mac’s turn to wear a shit-eating grin.

He knew that with Jack here he would be out of this nightmare very soon. He was planning to evaluate what Dean had told him, get some food, and use the bathroom.  Not necessarily in that order. He didn’t realize how bad he had to go to the bathroom till rescue was eminent.  “Yep, that’s my boy! Ya’ll just sit tight and we’ll have you outta there in two shakes! Wait, anyone else in there?” Jack’s voice questioned from the door.

“Nope, just us.” Mac answered. Silence from the door answered him. Directing his gaze at Dean, Mac questioned, “Why aren’t they just popping the lock and coming in?”

Dean answered, “There isn’t really a door knob to pop.  I see the hinges on this side of the door, but not really a handle or anything.”

Sam called through the door, “We are going to try to get this door open so keep an eye out.”

With that warning there were several loud thumps and the door shook, but didn’t budge.

A new voice carried through the door—female, with a Scottish accent. “Now that you boys have had your fun using brute strength, let a lady through to do the actual work.”

Dean looked quizzically at the door. “That you, Rowena?”

“Who else would it be, dearie? Now, be quiet and let me get to work,” replied the disembodied voice.

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean answered. Mac shot Dean a questioning look, and Dean filled him in. “She is a witch who helps us out…when she feels like it.”

Mac felt like his head was going to explode—there was a _witch_ , too? A second later they heard some chanting outside then a creak, some smoke and the door opened half a foot. Across the room the doggie door slowly crept open at the same time.

“Um…guys?” Mac half-shouted. “There is a small door opening in here!”

The panic in his voice was plain for all to hear.  Dean kept trying to turn around to see what was happening, but just like Mac, couldn’t twist far enough to see behind him.

Low rumbling growls came from the small door, along with the sound of claws scraping the pavement.

“Shit, it’s a hellhound!” Dean shouted. “Rowena, get your scrawny little ass in here and help us!”

Dean was straining against his bonds to lean as far right as possible, which wasn’t very much in reality. He murmured almost too quietly for Mac to hear, “I can feel it’s breath on my face.”

“Why can’t I see anything?” Mac shouted, not liking the panicked look on Dean’s face.

“’Cause they are only visible to those souls they’re about to drag to Hell, dearie.” The Scottish accent again, only much closer.

Suddenly, she was between the two of them, shouting something in what sounded like Latin. The sounds of the claws retreated back into the little door and it slid down. Mac got a good look at their rescuer; she was petite, with voluminous red hair, and wearing a glittery purple dress.

Mac knew he was staring.

“Close your mouth, Angus. The gaping fish look is not a good one on you,” she said, smiling. 

He couldn’t quite get over the shock, Dean wasn’t lying. This was real! He watched Rowena as she looked around their plain room.

“Been telling secrets, have we?”  Facing Mac she asked coquettishly, “Did Deanie here tell you any of his deep, dark secrets?” Then she turned and addressed Dean while motioning to the barren walls. “There is a lovely little truth spell on these walls along with some angel warding.”

She was about to say more when she was interrupted. With a bang, the main door flew open and the rest of the rescue squad come tumbling in.  Jack and Riley ran to Mac, while Sam jogged over to Dean, and Rowena continued to study, what seemed to Mac as plain, grey walls. Each man’s friends quickly freed them, completely unaware they were being watched.

_The entity watched the drama unfold with a sick grin on Its face.  The hellhound shyly nuzzled at Its leg; It reached down to give her a few well-deserved pats as it took the time to bask in the perfect execution. It was time to put the bitch back in her rightful place, with Hell none the wiser._

_Everything was going according to plan, and that made It very happy. It blinked out of existence knowing that It was responsible for introducing two of the greatest forces of good to each other. It would come in handy for what the universe had in store for both the Winchesters and MacGyver’s makeshift family._

 

 

 


End file.
